


Down to Oblivion

by Angi115



Series: Down to Oblivion [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anger Management, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Friendships, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Dreams and Nightmares, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Family Issues, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mental Link, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Portals, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Storytelling, Therapy, Travel between the worlds, Visions in dreams, World Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:47:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24772630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angi115/pseuds/Angi115
Summary: Your problems won't solve for themselves and you can't hide from them forever. When Angie decided to escape from her past and start anew in a new city, she could not have expected what the Fate brought upon her. Desperately trying to hold tight to the reality, she ends up falling into another one - Nirn, know only from the computer screen. Angie, a more-or-less normal modern woman gets sucked into the world of Skyrim, meets her own Dragonborn, finds her favourite companion and tries to find her way back and not lose her mind (or life) in the process.
Relationships: Cicero (Elder Scrolls)/Original Character(s), Cicero (Elder Scrolls)/Original Female Character(s), Cicero/Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Cicero/Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Cicero/Female Listener (Elder Scrolls), Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Down to Oblivion [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1791616
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. The Fool

**Author's Note:**

> That's it. It's settled. I've finally decided to write down my own version of TES-related adventures.  
> As English is not my native language, feel free to point out any linguistic mistakes, awkward word usage or simply a wrong wording. I highly value constructive critique and I hope that after this few-year long break from writing, I may improve and create something worth reading. Therefore, I need YOU to grow and get better! <3
> 
> Skyrim, Dark Brotherhood, Cicero, etc. all owned by Bethesda  
> This fanfiction was written for fun, to silence my imagination and inner demons.  
> Enjoy your ride <3

Silence. The room was pleasantly quiet and no noises squeezed into it through a slightly opened window. Only a soft chirping of birds on the nearest naked tree and ticking from the wall clock. A young woman moved her head slightly until she heard a loud pop in her neck.

“Mmmhh...” She hummed with relief, feeling as sweet relaxation run through her oh-so stiff neck. She scrubbed the skin on it, taking an annoyingly tickling single blond hair out of the collar. Checking the time on her phone, she furrowed her eyebrows. The therapist was seven minutes late and her precious time was flying away.

She really hated when she was losing anything because of other people's tardiness – no matter if that was money, opportunities or time. The only positive was that after over a year of an acquaintance she was privileged enough to enter the office before the therapist even appeared. Not that there would be anything to be stolen or misused – an old computer with a flat-screen, simple desk, a pair of the armchair and an additional one in the corner, a hanger and a cabinet for documents. Nothing she would actually be interested in – she had little interest in other people's problems as the whole list of her own was more than enough.

After another minute of wait, the door finally clicked. An old, plump lady with short, hazel hair entered with a thick pile of documents and a cup of still-steaming coffee.

“Oh, I'm so sorry for the delay, Miss Angie. I hope that you haven't been waiting for too long.” The therapist, Mrs Ashen, sat on the other armchair, put on her glasses and started searching through the documents.  
  
“Not too long, everything is fine.” Angie lied smoothly, raising the corners of the lips in a soft smile. She liked the old lady nevertheless, so she tried to not be rude towards her. “I allowed myself to use one of the sockets to charge my phone.”

“Good, good...” Mrs Ashen finally found what she was looking for and faced her patient with a broad, warm smile. “So how are you doing lately? Are you happy with your new job?”  
  
“Ah, yes, thank you. After this rollercoaster I had in my previous one, my current reminds me of the promised land." Angie chuckled darkly. " They pay twice more, provided me with proper healthcare, I have normal breaks and no one belittles me for sharing my piece of mind. I'm glad that I've decided to move to another city and take the job.”  
  
A young woman crossed her legs and sat more comfortably. That must have pleased her therapist as Mrs Ashen's smile widened.  
  
“That's very nice to hear. You look slightly better, more hopeful.” She admitted. “Did you have a chance to rest and recover?”  
  
“Not really, no. The relocation was quite intense and my previous boss did everything to poison the sweet time on my sick leave. Pardon my French, but the bastard actually sent a control on me to check whether I'm really sick or just pretending. Bah! While I'm on the psychiatric sick leave!” Angie clenched her fists. “So no, although my diarrhoea halted after a month of killing my insides, my nerves are still wrecked. My headaches are back and stronger than ever. All thanks to him and my bloody family.”  
  
She heard a click of a pen, as her therapist took a fresh paper and started writing. Mrs Ashen fixed her glasses and looked at her with concern.  
  
“Did they call you again? Any quarrels?”  
  
“But of course. One question about my oh-so-wonderful job in a big corporation and how am I doing only to interrupt me with new achievements of my idiot brother." Angie soured and made a pause before the whole flood of words spurred. "How great marks he's getting at school in comparison to me at his age despite his mental and emotional retardation, and how handsome he's becoming, and that he's gonna have another piano concert, and that he misses me so much and why I'm not even calling him and not thinking about him. They still don't understand no matter how many times I tried to explain."  
  
Mrs Ashen stopped her writing. She knew this part all to good. There was always this moment in Miss Bard's visits when she started complaining about her brother. And her mother. And her family or studies. Not that it would be of any surprise as it was the main cause of her therapy. Mrs Ashen was there for her and by looking at young woman's face, the pain and feeling of injustice were deep in her. If only she could break this neverending circle of guilt and anger...  
  
"I don't love him, I can't stand him. He's narcissistic, egoistic, greedy and manipulative little shit and no one sees it. It's always: _Oh, poor Michael! He's so brave and kind! He tries so hard and other kids are so cruel and insensitive towards him and his problems! They use his good heart and treat him with disrespect!"_ She snorted with disgust. "My ass, if he's destroying the lessons and manipulates everyone into doing the work instead of him, then _he's_ the problem. And my mother is proud of him because _for her_ it's a sign that he's more intelligent than it seems! Proud, for fuck's sake!”  
  
She paused to massage her temples. A headache was to appear soon if she continued like that. Another problem, which was especially worrying for Mrs Ashen - her constant headaches. Truly caused by prolonged stress, frustration and inability to relax. She was always working, always fighting with time. No moment for rest. And she was a real sport when it came to calming her down. Like taming a cornered wolf.   
  
“I swear, sometimes I dream that they all die and finally leave me in peace. I'm not dependent on them anymore, they cannot manipulate me into being their emotional bin. I'm sick of people using me, especially my family.” She growled, anger visible in her dark grey eyes.  
  
“They never had the right to do so, you know that. You're their daughter and granddaughter and their problems are theirs, not yours. You don't need to seek their approval to feel complete and worthy of attention.” Mrs Ashen threw her a worried look. “And I think you would still probably miss them much if they died.”  
  
“Maybe, maybe not. But I hate feeling ashamed or guilty that I don't love my sibling and run away from him and their fascination with him. Throughout history, siblings killed each other and no one really cared if their relationships were good or not.” She huffed. Finally, she was steaming off.   
  
“Seriously, I need to go back to my Savbor* lessons, so I can punch someone in reality. I cannot control this anger. Games and dreams are not enough. Oh, how much would I give for being able to slash every idiot that crosses my path...”  
  
“But what games do you play? Are those action games or puzzles?” Mrs Ashen tried to calm her down, Angie knew it, but she let her do this. Being a _nerd_ was Angie's main source of entertainment and relaxation.  
  
“Role-playing games mostly in that case, but I do like puzzles, adventure games and telltale games as well. Have you ever heard of Skyrim, Mrs Ashen?”  
  
Older woman only shook her head but gave her a sign to continue.  
  
“Well, it's a game where you can play as a chosen one – Dragonborn, who possesses a strange ability to summon dragon souls and is able to fight these beasts more effectively than others. It's a world full of magic, where you learn many things – swordfights, spells, archery, sneaking... And there are many guilds to join. My favourite above all is Dark Brotherhood – an illegal guild of murderers, who worship Sithis, the god of death, and the Night Mother, an avatar of another goddess, who contacts with Sithis and shares his will with the assassins.” Young woman loved talking about her hobbies, especially when she had a willing audience.  
  
“So you can become a murderer. Doesn't it conflict with being this dragon hero?”  
  
“Well, one can also join a Thieves Guild or Mages Guild... Being a Dragonborn doesn't rule out the possibility of being someone else. You're supposed to kill dragons, isn't it?” Angie shrugged her shoulders with an innocent smile. “Anyway, I prefer to murder people in games than to do it in reality. I would hate to be separated from my books and penguin plushies." She winked at the older woman. Penguins were one of her biggest obsessions. The therapist could only smile in answer. These kinds of obsessions were harmless and were bringing up positive thoughts.   
  
"What is more, the Dark Brotherhood has the best characters. Well, most of them. I think the mad jester Cicero outclasses them all.” Angie nearly felt how her smile softened as she remembered this jolly, yet still terrifying little man. His amber eyes, long red hair, wide smile and highly-pitched voice. “Yes... A wonderfully written character. Tragic and positive at the same time. Loyal, witty and strong despite all that happened to him.”

“Is that how you would describe your desired partner?” Therapist's question made her feel uneasy.

“Uhh... I don't know. He's got a pretty hard PTSD, I wouldn't be surprised if he was dissociative as well when you think of the trauma and stress he'd lived with for so many years. In addition, he's a sadist and a wreck of a man. He's also prone to develop a serious and dangerous obsession.” Angie ran fingers through her hair. Few hairs fell off. “I would have to work with this with extreme caution. But he surely would need a hell of patience and affection for being alone and rejected for so long.”

“Sounds like a very troubled and broken man.” Mrs Ashen nodded. “However, I see that you would like to take your chances.”

“You wouldn't advice me against spending time with an unpredictable criminalist?” Young woman chuckled. “He could kill me this instant if I disrespected the Night Mother or Sithis. He's a Keeper, you know, that's a sort of sacred position that reminds of a sworn guardian.”

“I'm not here to judge your taste in men. I simply took notice of your visible sympathy for him. You've also reminded me a couple of times that you know how to handle a knife and street fights. And you could always try to run away from the danger. And you know that you don't have to give more of yourself that you're able to. Anyway, it's still a fiction, so we do not have to overthink it.” Mrs Ashen put down her pen.  
  
What therapist really meant was that she could see that the young lady was lonely. Lonely, but too stubborn to actually admit it. However, with proper encouragement, Mrs Ashen knew that Angie would get through that point and find herself someone nice. Not necessarily mentally unstable criminal to take care off. Or maybe she needed someone to take care of to feel at peace?   
  
“How about relaxation for a good end of our meeting?” Mrs Ashen gestured her to the armchair in the corner.  
  
Angie shot a surprised glance on the clock. Indeed, only five minutes to spare.  
  
“Oh... But I had a few more things to discuss. I had this very realistic dream and visions or waking dreams, I don't know how to call it and...” She pouted.  
  
“When do we meet again?” Mrs Ashen looked at her hand watch.  
  
“In a week, I guess?”  
  
“Why don't you write it down, so you remember it and bring it with you next week? I'm sorry, we cannot prolong our meeting.”  
  
Angie sighed tiredly and sprang out of her current armchair to take a sit on the one for relaxation. Strange delusions had to wait. She closed her eyes automatically, knowing already the whole procedure by heart.  
  
“And know, take a deep breath and let your body sink into the armchair. Clear your mind and think of your favourite music... Yes, and now of a place, you feel safe in. Breath and focus.” Therapist's calm voice lulled her into a familiar state.  
  
A nervous giggle bubbled in Angie's throat. She could not control it, as it always appeared out of nowhere, a tick really. She could never stay serious during the process.  
  
Is that how a certain jester felt when stressed out and overwhelmed?  
  


* * *

***** Savbor - specific martial art combining soldier training, stick fights, knife fights and many more. Invented by Krzysztof Sawicki. (check for more: [LINK](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCBwfC63Xit53VsMF8CipKwQ))


	2. Through the Looking Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can your dreams become reality? Do they mean anything at all? Angie tries so hard to live in the present and keep her sanity, but the Fate has some surprises for her.

Angie's eyes snapped open, horror painted in them.

Another strange dream – so real, so terrifying. She had to write it down. To remember, to share with Mrs Ashen. The woman sat slowly and looked around to examine the room. A huge old wardrobe, four bookcases already overloaded with various volumes from multiple categories, a simple desk with a swivel chair next to it, small Ikea table with her laptop on it, narrow chest of drawers and a huge pile of plush penguins placed neatly right on the bed she was sitting on. Although it was still dark, she could identify every single beak of her dear soft friends (And yes, all of them had names). The room looked as always. Nothing strange, nothing unusual.

A soft light fell on her face when she unlocked her phone. Four in the morning. Too early to start getting ready for a job. Even the fool on her screen had his face still unpainted and was enjoying a simple breakfast consisting of coffee and bread. She had plenty of time to kill.

With a deep sigh, Angie crawled out of bed and switched on the light. She took out her thick diary and started writing.

_ 13th of January, 2020  
  
_

_ I start to think that my mind has shattered. I used to have nightmares even as a child on a daily basis, but for the past few months, things got much worse. _

_ Is it because of the intense stress or the rapid changes in my life? Well, may it be that after seven years of constant struggle with money, inability to finish my studies, neverending family issues and fight with my already fucked up mental health, I had reached the point when I couldn’t handle the mess and… everything simply went to hell. _

_ Ha, it sounds like a pretty nice beginning of a story. But it's true. Following my therapist's advice, I cut the contacts with the family to a minimum, resigned from that bloody job, dropped the studies and decided to move to another city to start from scratch. Seven years of nearly ascetic lifestyle took a great toll on my pride and deepened my already severe anger-handling issues. _

_ Fortunately, months of intense job-seeking paid off and I was more than happy to take a warm and secure position in the big corporation. Especially now, when they offered oh such a lucrative salary and I was so in need of some mind-repairing months of financial security. Moving from one city to another was quick and surprisingly painless. And now, I can finally try to rest. Of course, if those bloody nightmares shall cease to appear night after night. _

_ Yes, as I've already mentioned in the beginning, but, of course, dwelled into something else, I had another nightmare. It was so detailed and real that I had trouble to not forget that was still a dream. _

_ I've dreamt that I've woken up on the wagon. My wrists tied, body sore from sitting on a wooden bench. A bit of what happened in the Skyrim's intro, only that I was there to play the story myself. Everything was happening exactly like in the game. The execution, the dragon (Allruin? Alldoit? Al...Whatever, never remembered his name), the run through the devastated burning Helgen. Only that I never made it to the city of Riverwood. _

_ I felt that I was watched all the time. Someone was hot on my heels. As soon as I was alone I've heard a short, yet evil laugh. A stone dashed right next to my face and I've turned to check where did it come from. Only it was all too slow. A sharp pain run through my lower back. Someone stabbed me and it was a well-calculated stab. Right through my kidneys, the blade went. I was dying. As I fell on my knees, someone approached me. _

“ _ Nothing personal, but I'm taking over. Sleep well.” _

_ A woman. I lifted my oh so heavy head and looked in the eyes of my murderer. And I froze in shock. It was me! I was looking at myself! Dressed in my normal outfit – the long black winter coat of mine, purple scarf, a backpack, which I carry every day to work. It was so surrealistic! And there was a dagger in my hand – freshly bathed in my blood. I wanted to say something, but when I opened my mouth, no sound came out. I felt so cold, everything hurt. I could not prevent myself from falling heavily on the ground, my face hitting the stone hard. Before it all ended, I could feel soft hands touching my face, stroking my hair and ear. I've heard a lullaby – the Lullaby of Woe. My murderer – me – sang it to me. And then... The world has gone dark. _

_ It's strange. Everything is strange lately. But it wouldn't be that different from nearly every nightmare, if not for the things I've started to see and hear. Things that have no right to appear in certain conditions. Like the sound of meadow life, when I was standing in the middle of the night winter street next to my block of flats. A shadowy vision of a small room with a burning fireplace where should be my reflection in the tram. Finally, forest trees, moving, realistic forest trees on the walls, where there were only stupid paintings of dicks before. It's... Am I going mad? Has my DID evolved into something else?  
  
_

Angie put the pen down and closed the diary. Enough. That was enough. In her dreams, she used to die sometimes, sometimes even from her own hands. But never like this. It was too real, felt too real. And those delusions. Was she the only one seeing and hearing those? Something was happening, something serious. She could feel it in her gut.

Not surprisingly, all that overthinking gave her a huge headache. She let a quiet and pained whine and started massaging the top of her aquiline nose. It didn't help even a bit. With teary eyes, she managed to reach for the painkillers – her most loyal friend of the past three years. She swallowed the pill quickly, feeling automatically better – the comfort of the fact that the pain will be over soon was working wonders. Placebo was working wonders. Now, she could start to prepare for surviving another day.

Fridays were the worst.

***  
  


Eight hours had flown in no time in relative peace. Nevertheless, Angie felt down that day, not only because of the period that started in the meantime. Winters here had been utterly depressing for the past ten years. It was dark when you woke up and it was dark when you left the job. Constant darkness, air filled with poisonous smog, chilly days without snow. Depressing.

Shopping centres, however, pumped with life. People, like moths, craved the light and crowded inside for a bit of materialistic happiness. They all walked like lunatics, not watching their steps or other people, who were walking from the opposite direction. Too preoccupied with the colourful and garish expositions.

“Pardon.” Angie tried so much to sound polite despite the anger bubbling inside.

_ Mindless pests. _

It was surprising how much she hated people, but could not convince herself into being rude. Always polite, always so calm. And the thunder inside roared as if willing to destroy her all being. And it was not because of her period.

Anyway, to survive one must be ready to take risks and so there she was – fighting with her struggles, running errands. Her home supplies were crying for being restored. She took out the list to avoid buying unnecessary things.

“Shampoo bar, deo, dark chocolate, oats, oranges, cinnamon, tea...” She murmured to herself.

Nothing too complicated, nothing too heavy. Her backpack was more than enough to carry it all. It all and an itsy-bitsy bottle of whisky to brighten up the gloomy evenings. She never drunk too much, but the events of the past few months left her stressed out and she desperately needed a bit of liquid relaxation. And hell, she could finally afford it.

Happy with her loot, she greeted the exit with huge relief. Too crowdy. Too loud. One of the biggest disadvantages of living in a big city. Trying to calm herself a bit, she took the longer path to her flat. The one leading through the tunnel next to the train station. It was rarely used most of the time, quiet and empty. When she approached the tunnel, a blissful silence cut her from the surrounding world. Just what she needed.

Her steps echoed as she walked. Her face relaxed under the calming, warm light from the wall lamps. Sweet silence...

And then she heard it. No more than the subtle chirping, but it was strange nonetheless. Her delusions struck once again. Only, this time she decided to check it closely. Slowly, silently, she followed the sound into one of the side tunnels as it got louder and louder. Her steps clicked on the slabs as she approached the corner... Until she stepped on something soft. Her eyes automatically followed her foot.

A grass. Thick, green and juicy grass.

“What the fuck...” She swore under her breath.

The short tunnel was filled with grass and wildflowers. Few bees attended their crowns, buzzing joyfully. At the end of this meadowy carpet was an opening. An opening, which looked as someone took a knife and decided to cut through the very real, to create a passage to another universe.

“What the actual fuck?”

Angie couldn't believe her eyes. Was it some sort of an exposition? Maybe a happening to bring attention to the harmful human impact on the environment? All these logical explanations felt rather weak. Her instincts screamed to turn around and run as far as possible, but... Yes, unfortunately for Angie, her curiosity was something that used to be a source of most of her trouble. She could not resist the sweet temptation of finding out what was happening right before her eyes. So she took one step closer – then the next and another. She didn't stop until she reached the cut itself. It wasn't blurry, didn't remind her of a portal or liquid of any sort. It looked just as if someone left the window open. No barrier, no strange light or humming, no hidden power sucking her in. Nothing.

“Jesus Christ... Have I gone mad?” Angie whispered and moved her hand closer to touch the passage.

She halted it, however. Who knew what would have happened, if she touched it. She picked out one of the flowers and attempted to poke the strange passage. Nothing happened. Slightly encouraged, she threw it through the cut. And yet, nothing happened as well.

“Okay, alright...”

With her heart in her mouth, she touched the passage with her pinky and it was just as if she reached through the window. The peculiar passage looked surprisingly stable. Angie felt a rush of excitement. It was like in her all dreams – a portal to a different world. Oh, how she craved for such an adventure when she was in her teens. The years have passed, however, and many things changed for the better. She didn't want to throw it all and go on an adventure now, oh no. But, she could take a peek and see what's behind this strange window, couldn't she?

After taking some cautious moves in and out with first her limbs and then her whole body, she decided to walk in. And it was so, so invigorating. As she walked in, a sudden realisation hit her mind. This sight was too familiar to be mistaken for something else. Skyrim. She was in Skyrim. The view was breathtaking. A whole new world she knew and loved, but could have never thought of seeing with her own eyes. Thick, juicy grass under her shoes, chilly breeze touching her skin, lovely, snowy mountain tops covered by dreamy clouds somewhere there.

“Oh... It's so beautiful...” She whispered in awe, kneeling to gently touch the blue mountain flower growing in one of the turfs of grass. Little, bluish petals were so soft and left some of the colour on her fingers when she squeezed them.  “My god... I'm not dreaming.”

Being enchanted by the new surrounding, Angie felt the desire to touch, sniff and feel everything around her. With her eyes closed, she sniffed her coloured fingers, enjoying the fresh and sweet scent. Forget-me-not's, that's what it reminded her of. She chuckled silently, feeling suddenly light and excited. She had to remember where this opening was to check it properly once she had the time and proper equipment. Skyrim, despite its beauty, was a deadly dangerous place for untrained individuals like her. With that in mind, she stood up and turned back to walk into her own world.

And then, before she could even react, the final line of the cut disappeared right before her eyes as if it has never appeared in the first place.  
  
Suddenly all of her joy and excitement were replaced by shock. Shock quickly evolved into fear and fear escalated to panic. Cold sweat started running from her forehead and her stomach wrapped itself in a knot.

“What...” She squicked feeling as if she was going to throw up or collapse any minute. “No. No, no, no no... No! NO!”

She was trapped. TRAPPED! She had to go home, she had a job, friends, bills to pay, she had all her belongings out there, her whole life that was starting to look fine due to her hard work. All lost! It couldn't be...

“No! God, please, no! _NO_!”

She couldn't even remember when she started screaming at the top of her lungs. Tears streamed from her eyes, wetting her cheeks and neck.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, STUPID!

It was too much. Stress filled all her being, as she was trashing like a cornered animal in the place the cut was just a second ago. She couldn't catch her breath, the world blurred before her eyes, her heart pounded wildly and her mind started to give up. She knew this state, she knew it all too well. It wasn't the right time, but it came anyway.   
  
The switch turned on and everything went black.


	3. Sweet child of mine

A slap. 

It burned on her cheek and brought her back to the world of the living. Her head hurt like hell and her body was drenched of energy as if she ran a triathlon. She was laying on the ground and she felt someone's heavy breathing on the skin. Her eyes snapped open, trying to focus on the sight before them. A face. A woman with sharp features, eyes big and dark-brown, cheeks painted with tribal lines. 

An elf. Pretty worried one, so to say.

“Oi! Wake up already!” She growled impatiently, exposing her small, yet sharp teeth.

“What... What happened? Where am I?” Angie whimpered still not conscious of her surroundings.

“Helgen. Or somewhere near Helgen. A stormcloak attacked me, and you came out of nowhere and gut him with a dagger right in the back! You were bloody nuts! And then... Then you told me to wake you up in a minute and laid on the grass. Just like that.” Mer explained quickly, spitting a bit on her face from excitement. 

Hyperactive that one. 

“I did _what_?!” Angie sprung to sit straight, her eyes big.

“Are you feeling well?” Elven lady scratched her head. "Should I repeat or something?"

" _NO_! I just cannot believe... What? How?" A wave of panic started bubbling under Angie's skin.

“You don't even know what I'm talking about” Mer whispered, loosening her grip on woman's arms. It was a statement, she could see the truth with her own eyes. “You killed this bastard there. You tell me, that you cannot remember that?”

The earthling looked into the pointed direction in disbelief. There was a body lying in the pool of blood. A Nord in a mismatched plate, probably one of the prisoners, who escaped execution. A short steel dagger was sticking out of his lower back.

Then the sudden realisation came to her mind. It was nearly the same scenario as in her nightmare. Only she could not remember a thing. Angie looked at the Bosmer right before her eyes. This face was all too similar to the one she has seen on the computer screen.  
  
These long, golden braids, slightly too long nose, the resting bitch face... That was her Dragonborn, that was her baby Karaba she had spent the past nine years with! And she somehow managed to save her from the miserable death. Angie started trembling, tears filled her eyes and without thinking, she caught the elven woman into a bone-crushing hug.

“Oh my god, you're okay, you're alive!” She sobbed, brushing Bosmer's braids in a motherly manner. Her teeth chattered in a nervous tick.

“Yeah, umm... I'm fine?” Mer blinked in confusion, awkwardly patting the sobbing woman's back before giving up and snaking her arms around Angie's waist.

Angie's chest ached from the conflicted emotions. She was happy that the Dragonborn was alive, but she was also devastated because she was trapped in this strange world where death could pop up from every corner.   
She wanted to go home badly and was terrified that she would never find way back to her world. So she cried and clung to her Dragonborn for her dear life as if she was the only thing in this universe that was certain and stable. Karaba could not know her at all, but Angie knew her all too well and couldn't help but hug her tight, probably appearing too friendly given the current situation. Nevertheless, for the unknown reasons Dragonborn didn't push her away.

They stayed like that for a while in complete silence, only disturbed by woman's wet, hysterical sniffle. Finally, Mer decided to break this awkward and unexpected moment. Gently she freed herself from the grip and stood up, offering her saviour a hand. Angie took it gratefully, quickly standing on her feet. Too quickly, as she nearly lost her balance due to the sharp pain that of sudden appeared under her scalp. She let out a silent hiss and grabbed her head.   
Mer took out a small flask with an unknown liquid and grabbed woman's chin with two fingers so that she focused her pained gaze on her.

“Drink it.” She ordered and without a warning, she lifted Angie's head and forced the contents of the flask into her mouth.

It was bitter, earthy, but calmed her down and cured the headache. She coughed a bit and licked her lips. One worry less, however, there were still plenty.

“Thank you...” Said Angie, her eyes still filled with worry and sadness. “I feel better now.”

Then, she could finally take a look at her Dragonborn-to-be. Karaba appeared to be much smaller than Angie could have expected. The elven woman was head and a half shorter, slim and yet somehow muscular. When she stood straight and corrected the bow on her back, her muscles flexed. 

“Well, if it's true, then you have a really strange way of showing happiness.” Bosmer snickered. “ Who are you then? Why are you dressed like this? Are you a jester or something? I didn't know Nords had those.”

A question threw Angie off balance. Indeed, she was dressed strangely according to the local standards – long black winter coat, purple scarf, black and blue striped tights and black winter shoes, now greyed from dirt. She surely was looking like a walking circus.

“Oh, umm... No, I'm not. And I'm not a Nord. I'm a Pole.” Angie said bluntly and immediately felt an urge to slap herself for responding without thinking.

“A Pole? Never heard of that race.” 

Alright, there was no turning back. She could as well tell her Dragonborn everything and hope that this miraculous act of bravery she performed unconsciously some time ago would pay off. Woman cleared her throat.

“I... I'm not from here. I shouldn't even be here. There was this portal on one of the hills. I came here through it out of curiosity and then it closed suddenly. I snapped, don't remember a thing from that moment. And now... we're here. I'm here. I'm trapped!” Earthling's face turned grim.

“A portal...” Bosmer whispered in awe, her eyes shining of sudden. “So that's what I have been seeing lately!”

Angie lifted her head and stared at Mer deeply with a new hope painting on her face.

“There are _more_?”

“Yes! I've seen a few appearing in strange places and vanishing after a while. Never approached one – looked suspicious." Karaba bent like a conspirator. "And by the gods, that could be another Oblivion gate. I've heard these were pretty nasty centuries ago.” Dragonborn shivered.

“Nah, that's a ridiculous assumption. Oblivion gates were bursting with deadric flames and caused wild atmospheric phenomena. And there was plenty of daedra walking nearby.” Angie waved her hand and almost instantly kicked herself mentally _again_ for keeping her tongue loose.

“Wha... How do you know that?!” Mer asked, wide-mouthed and bug-eyed in shock.

“I...Ummm, I... You, know...” Angie felt her throat going dry.

_ Think of something, quick! _

Trying to reach to the top of her acting skills, Angie brushed loose strings from her face and sighed heavily.

“Ah, that's no use hiding it... I'm... I'm a Storyteller. My people, me included, are the Storytellers, to be precise." Angie felt her cheeks paint in pink for lying straight in the face of a stranger. "We collect stories from various parts of the universe – those which happened, happen and may happen. We write them down and keep the record.”   


Angie hoped that she sounded convincing. It wasn't that much of a lie itself – more of a free and poetic interpretation.   


“So, that's why I've known where to find you, Karaba.”

“You... You know my name! So you can see the future as well? That's crazy!”

Taking the look on Bosmer's face, Angie knew she bought it. A huge relief washed over her whole body, but too quickly. Karaba wrinkled her nose a little – a grain of uncertainty painted in her eyes.

“But wait, you told me that you cannot remember what happened after the portal closed. How is that?”

_ Shit. Vigilant that one. _

“Umm... You see, I'm a bit unstable. When I'm under huge stress, I'm replaced by the kindred spirit. My guardian appears and leads me where I have to be, does what should be done.” Woman decided there was no use trying to explain such complicated psychological processes to Karaba, who was basically living in the middle ages.

It was better to stick to the theory of “positive possession” of some sort. They weren't that rare in this world. Bosmer only raised her brow patronisingly.

“You basically try to say that when you lose your shit and get hysterical, you go berserk.”

That was a statement and the one that made Angie blink. She was starting to like her Dragonborn more and more.

“Uhhh... Yes, that's true. I'm impressed.”

“Well, I may not be a Storyteller and probably I'm not aware of many things, but I can surely understand that shock can lead to extreme states. Speak your mind, I will tell you if I don't get something.”

“I shall remember that then.” Angie nodded and then something got her attention. “Have you by any chance seen my backpack?”

“Haven't seen it, but you came from behind those bushes.” Karaba pointed to the plant right next to the cave's exit.

As it turned out, the backpack was lying there safe and sound, and surprisingly clean. Going back to her new potential friend, Angie searched through her belongings to check if everything was in place an unharmed. Karaba observed her with visible curiosity. It's not every day that you meet a representative of another race from a different universe. However, the elven woman stayed surprisingly composed for the conditions she was thrown to. Or she was processing them fast enough to keep calm. A true hero material, indeed.

“Storyteller?”

“It's Angie, for you, dear.” She corrected still rummaging through the insides of her backpack.

“Fine, Angie. I assume that you probably know where we should head from now on? We could use some of that knowledge of yours. It's getting dark.”

“Yes. We should head to Riverwood. You were invited by that Imperial sergeant, isn't it? We should take this opportunity to eat something decent, wash the dirt off and rest. In the morning, we should earn some money. There are few people to meet and earn a fair share of septims to get to Whiterun.”

“That sounds quite reasonable. Why Whiterun though?” Karaba took a peek at the insides of the backpack once again. There were lots of weird objects she surely was to ask about next time.

“Because we'll be ordered to carry the message about the dragon to the Jarl Balgruuf. Later on, tons of weird shit happening. You're about to become very, very important, my sweet Karaba.” Finally somewhat content with the state of the backpack's insides, Angie closed it and put it on. “I'm already an anomaly in this story, so I can as well give you some hints and make your start a bit easier. That is, until I manage to find another portal to get back to my world. I'm afraid, however, that running around like a headless rooster hoping that I will find another bridge, is stupid if not crazy. I'll need to talk to the mage of some sort. Hopefully, if you've managed to see these portals, they did as well. That's a start. Will you have me then?”

Karaba looked at her strange companion from head to toes. She put her hands on Angie's arms heavily, a wide, impish grin spread on her face.

“You bet. I owe you anyway, but something tells me, that I will owe you even more.” She chuckled and turned on her heel. “Grab that dagger from the corpse. You know how to fight?”

“Only how to wrestle and a bit of knife sparing. I used a bow few times in my world, but can't say that I've managed to learn it properly.” Angie admitted. There was no use lying that she was a fighter. “I doubt I can take down bandits or anything else in open fight.”

Karaba cleared her throat and threw a look on the road before them. She would bet her right arm on it that there were plenty of bandits and wolves on the tracts.

“Fair enough. We'll work on it later then. Stay close and try not to get in a way if we are to fight.”

“Acknowledged.”

And so the journey began. In a quick jog, two women took the shortest way to the Riverwood. They never shared a word knowing that it would attract unwanted attention or alarm a wild animal of any sort. Angie took her time to observe her surroundings in the light of a dying sun. So long hadn't she seen such deep forests and crystal clear streams. The air smelled sweetly of flowers and needles. So beautiful, so absurdly real, that it made her heart sink.

“Ah, Karaba?”

“Yes?”

“Don't tell anyone about who I am.”

“Wouldn't dare, Storyteller, wouldn't dare.”


	4. Let the sleeping draugrs lie

They made it to the small town before it grew too dark to see. Much to Karaba's content, no surprises on the way - no strange portals, no other crazy ladies from another world, no dragons. The so-called Storyteller did not let out a beep for the whole time, probably too busy observing their surroundings on the way. Bosmer had had the plenty of time to digest all the mess she was thrown to.

Part of her believed that it was just some kind of Daedra Price's trick that she accidentally became a victim of. Sanguine? Sheogorath? The girl could simply be one of their servants or even the Prince himself. As far as she knew, they were extremely powerful, so they could as well change their appearance, right? This Angie knew too much, dressed strangely and looked at her as if she knew her for her whole life.

But, at the same time, when she hugged her, Angie looked absolutely broken and fragile. Karaba could clearly smell genuine fear on her, fear and blood. She was vulnerable. Maybe there was a grain of truth in what she was saying? Maybe, beside The Void, Oblivion and Daedric Realms, there were even more worlds? That would make a lot of sense, but why would the portals appear now? What was happening?

Another thing was that she was about to become “important”. Living her fifty years in shadows and as a common thief and ranger, it was hard to believe that suddenly she, Karaba of the Desolate Shack, was about to become someone. She had some friends in Thieves Guild and was working hard to join them, which resulted in her ending up in the bloody Helgen, but that's it. Life was what life was - Karaba had never really had this urge to draw attention to herself. She really did prefer the simple pleasures – good food, good booze and enough coin to get a comfy bed and a nice, juicy butt to squeeze. Nothing less, nothing more.

She was enjoying her life, really. It wasn't ideal, but Bosmer had always lived the rule that if you want more, you need to earn it and push your luck a bit. Karaba wasn't sure if she wanted to change anything, but she was quick to adapt and more than curious, if she were, to be honest with herself. Maybe that sudden change of events was a necessary push in her life? Only time could tell.

And, apparently, her new strange companion.

***

It was nice and warm by the fireplace, especially with a full stomach. Bosmer yawned loudly and her eyes filled with tears. She was exhausted and could fall asleep any second. Yet, she waited patiently for the Storyteller, as she promised to explain the possible plan for the following days. And Karaba was a bit intrigued to hear it. The fire, however, was cracking so calmly...

“Do you mind, if I clean myself here? Our hosts are already in beds and I don't want to keep them awake.”

Angie's soft and quiet voice stopped her on her track to the Dreamland. Looking rather uncomfortably, she was standing shyly by the stairs with a small towel and a bowl full of water. Karaba found it surprisingly adorable, but kept her stone face and waved at the younger woman encouragingly. She made some space for the bowl and leaned her back on the wall next to her bedroll.

"Can you, please, turn around?" She asked politely.

"Uh, yes." Mer turned around a bit.

Feeling more comfortable, Angie silently undressed from her peculiar clothing. First her coat, later on, shamelessly short black dress with a huge neckline exposing her collarbones. Karaba, who couldn't help herself shot a short glances from time to time. gasped a little, seeing that under the dress, the woman had only these striped tights and nice-looking black undergarments. She was curvy with pretty wide hips and of the modest breast – maybe slightly too wide arms, covered in strange pale scars. When Mer took a closer look, it turned out that her naked thighs were also covered with thin, long stretch marks.

“What have I done to deserve such attention?” She chuckled, shyly averting her intense gaze.

“These scars. What happened?” Karaba cleared her throat, realising that she might have been staring too boldly.

“Aaah, these.” Storyteller touched her right arm, where the scars were most visible. “Nothing special, really. Just an unfortunate encounter with hot tea when I was an infant. The rest is because I have thin skin and in the past few years my weight has been changing rapidly.”

“I see...” Bosmer murmured in reply, feeling awkward of sudden.

"Okay, now... Please turn around like I asked you to."

"Fine, fine!"

The younger woman opened her black bag and took out a small box, which, as if turned out, contained a soap bar. She lowered herself to the bowl and started washing her body. She took off her upper underwear, showing perky breasts with small nipples, only to start scrubbing them vigorously. Karaba gulped silently, feeling as the tips of her pointed ears started to grow hot. She did encourage her to wash in her presence, but this experience turned out to be quite intense. Why did the woman expose herself next to her so freely? Was there no modesty in the world she came from? Af if that was not enough, off went also the pants and Angie crouched strangely over the bowl as if she wanted to start urinating. But that apparently was not her intention. Karaba's eyes went comically wide, as she saw the younger women taking some strange glass-shaped container out of her intimate parts. It was filled with blood and Bosmer could literally feel her jaw drop open.

“What in the Void is that thing?!” Bosmer moved closer, eying the container, ignoring the fact that Angie started looking visibly uncomfortable. All the shame she had felt minutes before flew away replaced by fascination.

“My cup. Weren't you supposed to look away?” She squeaked looking rather startled. “Could you back of a little? I don't want to spill the blood.”

“You put that thing inside?! Does it hurt? What does it do? Do you hold it somehow inside?”

Karaba's curiosity took the best of her and she could not contain all the questions that exploded in her head. She did restrain herself from taking the cup in her hands merely for the fact that it was full. Angie tried to hold her composure and started cleaning her intimate parts and the cup.

“Umm... Well, it's made of a soft elastic material, so it does not hurt me. Actually, when I put it in, I do not feel it that much.” She informed in a quiet voice. “It's simply a container that sucks into my walls and catches all the blood during the period. Very comfortable and it can hold the blood up to the twelve hours. It made my life much easier. Unlike you.”

“Oooh, clever... Your people are crafty.” Karaba nodded enthusiastically, feeling a rush of relief. " Wait, why me?"

"Because I've asked you about a few times already to let me do my thing at peace and you're gawking at me!"

"But you are so  _ strange _ !" Karaba whined. "I have never seen anyone like you ever!"

She really doubted that any Daedra would come up with something like this, left alone, have periods. What is more, her strange clothing, even stranger way of speaking and that blasted bag that she clinged on for her dear life. That sounded kind of ridiculous when Bosmer thought about it. So, maybe her companion was telling the truth about her origin? That was a strange train of thoughts, but Karaba has always liked herself for her odd way of perceiving the world.

"Well, I have never met someone like you as well, but I do not touch your everything to make sure you exist." Angie scoffed, trying to hide the intimate parts. "And believe me, these ears of yours are  _ so _ alien."

Nevertheless, Angie looked a bit upset and embarrassed. Karaba decided to let her silently wash herself clean and decompose the dirty water. Only when the Storyteller was finally dressed and sat on her own bedroll with her bag tightly hugged to herself, did the Bosmer initiate the conversation again. She was patient and they had plenty of time to talk.

“So, are you going to tell me what is our plan for tomorrow?” Karaba asked with a hushed tone, moving closer to the younger woman.

“Yes, yes, right... The easiest thing – we're going to talk to Faendal and Sven. These two are engaged in a love triangle with one of the girls here. We shall help the Bosmer and he shall give us about twenty-five gold and he can be of help with a more difficult quest. The girl Faendal is in love with is a sister of the local merchant. The merchant can give us about four hundred gold for finding a stolen golden claw.” And so Angie did explain the whole plan including plenty of minor quests and findings that were about to become very important for both of them. Or so she claimed.

Karaba listened carefully, however she could not comprehend it how, by the gods, that woman came into possession of such knowledge. Her plan was detailed and formed a huge spider web of connections between all the places, people and events that they haven't actually met yet. It was as if she did all of these things beforehand and now, as they were talking, she simply reported everything to her. It was overwhelming, scary and thrilling at the same time. That woman was...

“Unbelievable” Bosmer whispered, letting out a small chuckle.

“Hmm?” Angie stopped on her tracks to look at her.

“You're unbelievable.” Karaba moved closer, grinning from ear to ear.

“Me?” She squicked in surprise, trying to move away a bit, as only a few inches separated their both faces.

“My dearest Storyteller, firstly, you've saved my life and now you're giving me on a silver plate a manual of how to earn over five hundred gold in one day. What a lucky charm you are.” Bosmer chuckled darkly, taking one of the woman's loose blond locks between her fingers. “Shall you tell me more and I may not let you leave at all...”

“Are you trying to make me regret putting any trust in you?” Angie shot her a cold glaze.

“Why, absolutely not. I've simply wanted to show you, how grateful I am.” With a slightly cheeky manner, Bosmer rolled the lock over her finger to put it behind woman's ear. “And you and I can become best friends in no time.”

Hearing woman's sharp inhale, Karaba moved away content with the reaction. She pinned her predatory gaze in Angie's dark eyes.

“That is if all you're saying is true.” She added, her smile fading away.

“It  _ is _ true.” The woman furrowed her brows.

“I hope so, I really do. Now, let us sleep. If so much is going to happen, we'll need plenty of energy to tick all the quests on our list. Good night, Storyteller.”

With these words, Karaba made herself comfortable on the pile of furs near the fireplace and fell asleep almost immediately.

***

“Here, put this on.”

Karaba threw a freshly looted leather armour on the still sleeping Angie, who grunted angrily in response. She was a funny view this morning with a huge cocoon of hair on her head, slightly slobbery cheek and face reflecting so much exhaustion, that she could perfectly resemble the undead.

“Aw, you look like a Hagraven.” Bosmer snickered, earning another angry grunt with an additional middle finger from her sleep-deprived friend. “Come on, wake up! Change these lusty clothes of yours. We're going on an adventure!”

“What time is it...?”

“Well, it's maybe an hour after the dawn?” Karaba scrubbed the top of her nose only to sell a light kick in the butt of the grumpy Storyteller seconds later. “It doesn't matter, I've been up for some time now and I've managed to scout a bit around the city. I've found those ruins you mentioned yesterday. And Faendal will soon be waiting outside, so we better get going.”

“Wait... Faendal? Did you wake the poor guy, merchant and the whole rest already?”

“Why should we wait? Anyway, Camilla and her brother looked quite awake screaming at each other, Faendal was already by the sawmill and only Sven was napping his drunk ass off in the Sleeping Giant.” Karaba rolled her eyes, impatiently stamping.

“You're impossible.”

“And you're still not dressed. Will you get ready today?”

Angie let out a tired and unhappy sigh, rubbing her eyes. She crawled out of her coat, which she apparently used as a cover, and sluggishly grabbed her bag. By the gods, she looked as if she was in deep pain. Karaba could barely keep herself from snorting.

“Did your friend have a terrible battle this night by any chance or did I miss anything last evening?” A deep, yet amused voice interrupted their rather one-sided discussion.

Alvar, the smith, climbed down the stairs, with a smirk. That remark alone encouraged the Bosmer to crack up.

“Thank you for letting us stay for the night, sir. We're both very grateful.” Angie answered politely with a bit forced smile.

“Ah, don't mention it, lady. In crazy times like this, we should help each other. And my boy made it home thanks to you two.” The smith smiled warmly.

“Alvar, will they be staying for breakfast?!” Sigrid, his wife, shouted from the upper level.

“They will! Don't hold yourself back, I'm hungry like a wolf!” He shouted back, not even bothering to ask the two women.

“More like a troll, you meant!”

“You're hurting my feelings, woman!”

“Your  _ what _ ?!”

The smith let out an exaggerated sigh and scratched his blond beard, trying to hide a widening smile.

“That's marriage for you.” He mumbled and climbed the stairs shaking his head.

“Well, I could use a snack, I won't lie.” Karaba winked at Angie, enjoying herself. “Change your clothes, this money won't come on its own.”

***

Karaba was dirty, sweaty, still high on adrenaline and happier than she had ever been. She inhaled deeply the frosty air that hit her as she finally left the stinky catacombs behind. Loaded with loot and envigorated after literally absorbing a strange word from that wicked chanting wall, she couldn't be more satisfied. That Angie girl turned out to be of much help, that is, when she was not running away or screeching like a startled chicken. Fortunately, she knew when to leave the way clean, when she or Faendal tried to shoot the draugrs down. Unfortunately, as soon as they were all out of the catacombs, the girl started crying like a baby.

“Hey, hey... It's okay. No need to cry now, we made it!” Faendal, apparently having a weak spot for woman's tears, was doing all to soothe the Great Weeper.

Karaba rolled her eyes and yawned theatrically.

“You done? If you cry more, we'll surely drown in your tears.” She joked, laughing a bit at her own great sense of humour.

That was enough to turn Storytellers weep into pure anger.

“You! How  _ dare _ you shove me to go first?! I've told you I don't know shit about fighting! I nearly  _ died _ there! Did you think that showing me how to swing a dagger a bit would be enough?! There were fucking draugrs and a motherfucking giant spider! Do I look like I am poison resistant?!” She screamed, throwing her dagger at Bosmer's feet.

“Oh,  _ please _ . There wasn't much of a fight, you spotted them even before they moved their asses out of the holes. And you knew exactly what the traps looked like.” Karaba snorted and kicked the dagger back. “And you were quite a view avoiding all these shouts.”

“Karaba... I think that's enough...” Faendal shot her a warning glance, but Angie was already all pale from anger. At least, in all the places that haven't been that dirty.

“You used me as bait,  _ bitch _ !” Angie roared and pushed her with all the little force she had left.

That was not funny at all. Karaba had lots of patience, but whining over unimportant events was one of the few things that threw her off balance.

“At least you were of some  _ use _ during the fight.” She snapped with a sneer.

“ _ You fucking _ ...!”

Before the things got more heated, Faendal jumped between the two mad women.

“That's enough, ladies! Stop it, now!” He urged, trying to make as much space between the two as he could.

Karaba only shrugged her shoulders feeling as her good mood from minutes ago simply evaporated. Angie spat something in a strange language under her breath but didn't dare to continue the fight. Faendal let out an exhausted sigh, wiping sweat from the dirtied forehead.

“Why don't we go back to the Riverwood, take a nice bath and talk this through over a good ale?” He proposed, forcing a warm smile on his face.

“Oh, this sounds so good!” Karaba cheered automatically. “Let's give this blasted claw to Lucan and get some booze.”

“For Faendal's sake I'll take the offer, but mind my words, we're gonna have a little talk. This is not over yet!” The Storyteller hissed and rushed down the stairs. “And  _ you're _ paying!”

“Fine, fine, whatever...” She mumbled in response and started marching after the Miss Fuss-over-nothing. 

Faendal, on the other hand, allowed himself to stay a bit behind, enjoying some peace and quiet at last.

“Gods help me, I'm too old for this...”


	5. Mirror, mirror

The supper was a nightmare. As soon as the two ladies made it out of the bath, fresh and clean, they started quarrelling again. Or rather, Angie preached and Karaba was doing everything to infuriate her companion even more. Faendal observed them in disbelief, feeling as embarrassment filled him from the pointy ears to the sore feet. That was too much, he didn't sign on for this. He wanted a small adventure, something to cut the monotony of every day full of chopping wood or hunting.

Now, that he had spent merely one day with these two hellish women, he wanted nothing more than to go back to his boring life, thank you very much.

They were making a scene, ignoring the fact, that people started talking between themselves pointing at their party of three - people he knew for years. He hadn’t felt such a shame in his whole life. Two, it would seem, adult women, who behaved like insufferable brats. He couldn't take it any longer. Mer pushed his untouched plate to the centre or the table and cleared his throat loudly.

“Silence!” He roared with a glare of pure anger.

It worked, taken by surprise, two women fell immediately silent. Now he had to shake them a bit. He didn’t really wish them ill, so as a token of gratitude for the help with the love of his life, he was generous enough to give them a little life lesson.

“Listen, ladies, before you start again.” He started, his voice silent now. “I’m really grateful for your help and for taking me with you to the Bleak Falls Barrow, but I have enough. Our journey is over. Please, hit the road without me.”

“What? Why?” Karaba looked at her Bosmer companion with wide eyes, visibly not understanding what pushed him towards this decision.

“Because of us, _genius_ , and your thick head.” Angie snarled and rolled her eyes.

“To be precise, because of your attitude,” Faendal admitted, gulping a bit. There was no turning back “Pardon me, ladies, but you’re unbearable. You both see only the tip of your noses.” He turned to Angie with a sour face. “You talk way too much and behave like a know-it-all, criticizing everything you look at. You got offended so many times that I’ve already lost my count. And you always have to have the last word.”

Bosmer cut the younger lady before she was about to say a word. Then, he turned to the overly amused Karaba, who snickered like a child whose friend got punished for both of them.

“And you are absolutely irresponsible. You’ve told me that you’ve found a great person, who wanted to help you genuinely but at the same time you use her as bait? She begged you several times to not put her in direct combat, because she cannot protect herself properly! Do you even listen to what others say to you?!” Faendal continued pointing finger on now pouty Karaba like a disappointed father. Gods knew, he felt like one at the very moment. “That’s not how you treat people you travel with, young lady!”

The atmosphere in the Sleeping Giant inn became tense. All other people present there, in a great number of five, stopped on their tracks to observe what was going to happen next. Both Karaba and Angie didn’t dare to open their mouths, too shocked by the normally calm Bosmer’s outburst. Faendal cleared his throat and stood up from the table.

“My advice is simple - if you don’t get along, don’t travel or spend time together. Enjoy your meal.”

As he started to feel awkward, he decided that the best solution was to leave before he added anything else. He was about to push the door when he heard a snort.

“Good job, daddy. You really know how to talk with women.” That was Sven, as always with his arrogant grin.

“Why don’t you go and write more of these wonderful letters of yours? Camilla was so touched with the last one.” Faendal said with a nasty grin, leaving the bard gasping out of disbelief.

And with these words, he left the inn. Angie and Karaba shot a glance at each other and quickly looked away with similar sour faces. Orgnar, the innkeeper, lowered himself through the bar.

“No offence, but were I you, I would think about what he said.” He pointed with his head on the door. “And if you want to scream some more, do it outside.”

“No more screaming, sorry.” Mumbled Angie, lowering her head to her stew like a beaten dog.

Karaba only snarled, grabbed her bowl and moved to the table in the other part of the inn.

***

Angie was on a verge of tears second time that day. It was the worst day ever, every part of her body ached, she was still shaken from what she had encountered in that bloody tomb and she could not believe that her own Dragonborn could use her the way she did. The words Faendal threw on her hit her hard, but he was right - she had to rethink her behaviour and attitude. At the same time, she felt hair-thin close to a mental breakdown and could not calm down. She has always felt somehow useless, but in this world, the truth smacked her mercilessly in the face.

_Useless. Helpless. Weak. Unbearable._

Before she knew it, tears started streaming on her cheeks, drip-dropping to her slightly overcooked stew. How could Karaba treat her this way? She was her Dragonborn, she created her! Or did she really? Karaba was the Bosmer, she looked exactly like the one in her game and apparently possessed the abilities she would pick for her, but that was it. She knew nothing about her - her past was a mystery, her character turned out to be hard to bear, she was egoistic, childish, cheeky, she listened only to what she wanted to listen, she did whatever she wanted, not caring what other may think or feel. Angie was devastated. In her naivety she thought that they would become great partners in no time, if she told her a little and offered the only thing she possessed, that could be of any worth - information.

So she talked and talked a lot, to keep her interested to make Karaba think, that it would actually be bene*9ficial for her to keep her close and protected. But no. Karaba was the best friend only to Karaba and money. It was terrible. She could not continue this journey with the Dragonborn if they did not get along - too much risk and who knew what could have come to that Bosmer’s head. She was unpredictable. But, it was Karaba’s choice and apparently that's the way she had lived all her life. Who knew what experiences made her behave like this?

Angie could not find the strength to look at the corner, where her Dragonborn-to-be was sited. Chewing the last bites of her dinner, she decided that it was high time for her last-resource method to get a grip - she had to buy a notebook for some mental cleansing. That or her brain would literally explode from too many thoughts and feelings. She had to move, to do something, think of a plan. Fortunately, Karaba was fair enough to share the money from the loot. Therefore, Angie was not penniless - that and she also had found some coin and jewels in the urns she had been checking nearly obsessively. She hoped that no ancient ghosts shall curse her for these tomb raider tricks. Anyway, she was able to buy some essentials.

Trying to be polite, Angie took her plate and brought it back to the bar, so that Delphine, that stupid undercover cunt, didn’t have to overexert herself. With that and an apologetic smile, she earned a small grateful nod from the innkeeper and Delphine herself. Under other circumstances and with her knowledge of the game’s plot and characters, Angie would find the situation more than amusing. She would feel like an oracle or game master of some sort. But now… Now she felt vulnerable and had dreamt only of finding a way to get back home in the shortest time possible.

Without even looking back, she pushed the door and quickly walked to the Lucan’s goods shop. To her surprise, the certain imperial was replaced by his sister Camilla. How convenient. The woman showed her a friendly smile as a greeting.

“Good to see you again, Camilla. Lucan’s not here?” Angie asked politely.

“No, he’s eating supper now. You’re lucky, I was about to close the shop. You need something?” Camilla shook her head and leaned on the bar. Taking a look at her rather friendly attitude, she surely didn’t talk to Faendal yet.

“Actually, yes. I wanted to but few things. I need a soap, undergarments, a dress or two, a bedroll, a towel and a notebook. Do you have those by any chance?”

“Well, we do have all of it, I guess. Let me collect all the things.” Imperial raised her eyebrows and tapped her chin, looking for the needed products. “Lucan! Where did you put the bedrolls?!” She marched to the stairs and shouted.

“What do you want?!” Merchants voice sounded a bit irritated.

“The bedroll! Throw me one of them.”

Angie was quite content with all the things that she had purchased. She was quite scared that the amount would turn out to be astronomic, but apparently, she did not really pay the attention to the normal products while playing Skyrim. She was even surprised to find that there were a few quite nice dresses and soaps. Especially soaps. She bought one with lavender oils and flowers and it was so cheap in comparison to the soaps with the same ingredients from her world, that she seriously considered stocking some more just to take them home. However, at the moment, she had to have a bit of coin for food or to pay for a room in the inn.

She shot a glance at the alchemist's table, squeezing her backpack a little. She collected some of the ingredients for potions, but as she was a novice when it came to using them in practice, she was reluctant to push her luck and ask to use the table. But, at the same time, that could be a good way to earn some coin in the future. While playing Skyrim, Angie has always pushed her Dragonborn into making jewellery and potions to earn the most money possible in the shortest time. Her worried glance must have caught the attention of Camilla, as she cocked her head a little, to look the way her client was looking.

“You know, our offer is still on. You may use the table if you want.” She chuckled.

“Yeah…” Angie replied without much conviction in her voice. “Problem is, that I’ve never used one. And it’s getting late. I don’t want to keep you here just to watch me make an utter mess. I’d better go.”

“Oooh…” Camilla’s eyes got bigger with realisation, as Angie started collecting her purchase to leave. “Wait! I can teach you the basics!”

"Seriously? Why?" Angie halted and looked at the Imperial in disbelief.

“Well, your friend told me that you’ve informed her about Sven’s nasty letters. And that it was your initiative that this ridiculous conflict is over.” She smiled gratefully. “I want to thank you somehow.”

“She did tell you that?” Angie could not believe her ears. Well, at least Karaba didn’t take the whole glory. Anyway, that did not make up for what she had done to her later that day. “But weren’t you supposed to close the shop?”

To answer her second question, Camilla dived behind the bar and took out the keys. She marched to the door to lock it, and after that, hang it on the nail near the stairs, winking at her.

“See, it’s locked. Nobody will interrupt us. And to be perfectly honest, I’m dying of boredom here in the evenings, so if I can teach you something, that will be a nice change.” She waved encouragingly, making her way to the alchemist's table.

“Thank you, that’s so nice of you.” Angie felt genuinely touched by Camilla’s unexpected kindness. She didn’t expect anyone to be nice to her and that made her eyes water a bit.

“You’re welcome. Do you have any ingredients with you? Or recipes?” She asked, putting all the necessary equipment on the table. “Lucan! Make some tea and bring a stool here! We’ve got a visitor!” She shouted.

“Yes, I’ve got some blue mountain flowers and imp stool, and … Oh, I will simply show you all. And I do know some recipes by heart.” Angie took out all the collected things from her backpack.

“Great, I see that we can make some nice healing potions here. So, let us begin…”

***

When Angie finally got back to her rented room with all the stuff bought and potions she managed to prepare, thanks to Camilla’s kind offer, she locked the door and sat heavily on the stool by the table. Only then she had realised, how dead tired she was. The alchemy lesson was soothing, but as soon as she got out of the cosy shop, anxiety hit her back and hard. Karaba was nowhere to be seen in the inn, probably for the best. Before hitting the bed, Angie decided that for her own good, she should make use of her freshly purchased notebook. So, she took out one of the pens stocked in her backpack, opened the simple notebook with a fine leather cover and started writing.

_14th of January, 2020 (and, apparently, 14th of Morning Star, 201, according to what Camilla said)_

_How can one reckless decision turn your whole life into a living nightmare? Well, it’s easy, the only thing you have to do is be me. Angie Bard - the Walking Failure. You don’t need to look for a bigger one, cause there will be none._

_I’m still unable to comprehend it - I’m in a fucking Skyrim. How is that even possible?! Just yesterday I was walking back home from work and then, of course, my Alice syndrome kicked in and I had to follow the bloody white rabbit of my curiosity to check out what the hell was happening in that bloody passage. Congratulations, idiot, now you’re living your own Alice: Madness Returns. Enjoy the ride!_

_I cannot describe how terrified I am. I have never been so scared in my whole life. The portal disappeared and I have no idea where the next will appear. I’ve switched right after the damn thing closed and can’t remember a thing of what was happening in the meantime. I’ve murdered a man. I’ve met my Dragonborn. I’m on my second day of the period and everything hurts. My phone battery is dying. I had nearly died today. Faendal told me I’m an unbearable, egoistic bitch, who criticizes everything and everyone and behaves like a big egghead douchebag. Well, not exactly in these words, but nonetheless. Everything is terrible. I want to scream and cry and destroy something, and then get drunk and drown myself in the nearest pond. A perfect ending for this tragic story. The only positive thing from today was that Camilla taught me how to make potions and I was actually able to make them._

_I thought that finding my Dragonborn was some kind of miracle, a small sparkle of light in the dark, but no. Karaba is a horrible companion. She’s an absolute, insufferable and irresponsible brat, who only sees her own interest. When I saved her (somehow) she told me she was so grateful and will help me. When I’ve told her that I want to help with my knowledge, she told me that we’ll surely become friends. And then, she started using me as a trap and Draugr detector and pushed me first in the very face of danger. Where is protection and gratitude in that?! I nearly pissed myself, when I saw that bloody gigantic spider. And she only laughed, she thought that my scared screams were some kind of a hilarious joke! That was it for the “great friendship” she was talking about last night._

_Speaking of friendship… If she’s ever to become the Listener at some point, which would be ridiculous taking the fact that she listens to no one, I just hope that she shall never take Cicero with her. The poor guy does not deserve that sort of treatment. Or maybe they would get along? I don’t know anymore. I haven’t met him, I don’t know him in person. I shouldn’t make assumptions. I just hope that she wouldn’t treat him like she treated me today._

_When I’ve imagined my Dragonborn, I’ve seen her as a carefree, brave and cheeky one. I’ve imagined her as a strong woman, who knew what she wanted and did what she wanted, not caring for what others think of her. I’ve always wanted to be someone like that, but apparently, my arrogance has been punished. I wanted to be like her, like my image of her, but not like this. This is all wrong and in merely one day I’ve learnt all the darkest shades of that combination. Is this some sort of penance for my vanity?_

_I just hope that I can make it on my own, cause I don’t want to travel with her, not for all the world. And probably, after my shouting and cursing, she’s sick of me as well. That’s the price for trying to be cooler than you really are. I’ve always thought that my wit and knowledge are the best weapons, and if I show everyone how smart I am, they will start to respect me and stop ignoring me. I thought that turning this whole mess into a big quest will turn out for the best. Focus on the tasks and plan everything and you won’t have time for overthinking. Well, fuck me, it didn’t work. Time to lower my head again and shut up. But, for fuck’s sake, I need to get to the Whiterun somehow. Find a mage, someone who may know of portals and will be able to help me, anything. I’ve never prayed for my whole life, but if that shall help me survive in this world, then please, please, Mara, Akatosh, Sithis, Sheogorath, anyone, please, help me!_

_I don’t want to die here._


	6. Laughter in the dark

Oh, this bloody wine tasted like piss. Cicero couldn’t help wincing and sticking his tongue out in disgust. Horrible! It must have laid for too long. Killing the pest that served this hideous quasi-alcohol would be considered a social favour. Sithis would surely understand this. He would, wouldn’t he? 

To be fair, any reason to kill would be a good one if he could finally stab someone. Anybody, he wouldn’t be picky. Like, anyone could do. After such a long stay on a ship, Cicero was a literal bundle of nerves. Constant rocking tossing rolling throwing upon the gray gray waves and those nosy, stinky, rude, always drunk sailors! Oh, how tempting it was to sneak up on them, when they laid drunk as the pigs, cut them open and feed them to the fish! They wouldn’t even notice, stupid Nords. That would teach them to never mock him again.

A wide, manic grin raised on his lips. Yes, what a pleasant thought! His eyes became cloudy at the same thought of rising his blade again. Some would say it was sick, but he was just honest to himself - he liked killing. It gave him this beautiful sense of freedom, a grip of control, a touch of justice and power. And duty. Oh, it filled him with joy to send these pathetic souls to the Void. The Dread Father’s heart grew with each and every soul that was coming his way. Cicero was sure of that. He would surely let the poor Cicero capper when he…

“What’s so funny, clown? You laughing at me?” A drunken roar cut him from his daydreaming. Indeed, he did not realise he was giggling nervously this whole time. “Bloody creep, you deaf?! That’ll teach ya!”

Cicero smoothly dodged the bottle flying his way, knocking his wine in the process. It crashed on the wall near his head. Before he could hide his face, one of the shards cut his right cheek deep. That hurt. A thin line of blood started streaming from the wound and jester’s gaze turned cold and dead. He quickly localized the attacker - a drunken, ginger-bearded Nord with painted face sitting right next to the Argonian companion with pierced horns. Oh, he stood up, facing him. He was big and angry. If he could only hold that laughter. But well, it was done. Play nice, Cicero, just play nice, or...

“Hey! One more like this and you’re out!” The innkeeper, Thoring, shouted angrily from behind the bar.

The Argonian raised his hand apologetically, earning a disapproving head shake from the innkeeper. Cicero shot him a glance. The lizard definitely must have been the brains of the party. 

“Leave him, Aappo. He’s clearly touched by Sheogorath.” The Argonian spoke softly, grabbing his companion with a tail. 

“Yes, yes, please, huge Nord, Cicero did not laugh at you! No, no, he wouldn’t!” Jester squeaked, wiping the blood from his face with an innocent smile. He wanted to play along, but at the same time, he did not like being hit for no reason. Not at all. “And this poor fool is sure that this bottle simply lost its way to the Nord’s mouth, isn’t it?” 

Argonian grinned at the remark, amused by the whirlwind of emotions changing on his companion’s face. He loosened the grip of his tail to let him wobble so that the rest of his grey brain cells would finally meet again. Hopefully. Cicero could not help but snort that an innocent irony like this could cause so much confusion. By the Void, these Nords were truly half brains. 

“Huh?” Nord called Aappo looked visibly confused, being too drunk to actually comprehend what the jester said. Was he… laughing at him again? Or not? 

Cicero, enjoying himself, snorted once more. Making fun of that idiot was just too tempting. He couldn’t miss this opportunity. He was sure he would regret it later, but… he was bored. And angry. 

“The bottle and mouth - nooo…The bottle - whoosh! And BAM!” He gestured depicting vigorously the whole process. When finished, he smiled charmingly, placing his chin on his fists and fluttering his eyelashes. A small line of blood started forming on his cheek once more. “Get it? No? Oh my...”

Argonian, to hide an amused sneer, took a sip from his bottle and licked his sharp teeth. This was going to be good. No matter how stupidly drunk his partner was, mockery in the little man’s voice was visible enough. And even if that wouldn’t be enough, the shit-eating grin on his face was too obvious. Oh, these jesters never knew when to shut it and mouth of this particular one was surely full. 

“Agrippa, this bloody mongrel is makin’ fun o’ me!” Aappo complained to his partner like a small kid and clenched his fists. 

“This time I must admit it, my dear friend.” Argonian noded. “Are you bored, jester? My friend would surely like to play with you outside if you’d wish it.”

“Yeah…! Let’s play, clown!” The Nord flexed his muscles and started marching clumsily towards Cicero, grabbing a one-handed axe on his way. 

That made Keeper move from his seat, a rush of excitement suddenly pumping through his veins. Oh yes, he could use some exercises after rusting for so long. Sweet Mother, please, don’t be angry at your dear Keeper for this little mischief! 

“Oh, Cicero loves to play! What games would you like to play, hmm?” With wary eyes of the innkeeper and other people’s in the inn on him, Cicero whipped off the blood from his face and started to bounce back towards the door with an innocent, childlike smile on his face. His ebony blade tapping his thigh softly with every move. “Ah! Cicero has an idea! What about Whack-the-mule? Cicero thinks you could do a great mule!”

Cicero could swear that seconds later Nord’s face started to resemble the one of an enraged mule. 

“WHAT?! You dead!” Aappo huffed and rushed on the little Imperial. The clown got on his nerves and he was going to feed him with his fist.

“Don’t stay for too long! We’re setting off at the dawn!” Agrippa called out before the Nord disappeared in the pitch-black night, running after the laughing jester. “More ale for me…” He mumbled to himself, taking the two left bottles and heading to the room.

Cutting winter breeze smacked Cicero’s face when he ran in the night, giggling maniacally under breath. The cut started to itch and ache, but it was nothing compared to the ones he received in the past. Loud thumping and occasional swearing behind him was enough for him to know that the stupid brute wasn’t going to let him go. That was a perfect opportunity to test the traps in his new beautiful Sanctuary! Ah, how he was looking for a worthy volunteer for his little experiment! 

“Fun, fun, fun…!” He sang through the clenched teeth, gracefully jumping over the stones and holes on the ground. Over the years living in the shadows and darkness, running in the dead of the night held no fear for the Night Mother’s Keeper. However, his temporary companion was having little problems. “Too slow! Does the mule need some whipping?”

“Wait till I get ya, ya little rat!” The painted Nord roared, nearly tripping over his own legs.

Cicero cackled and speeded up his run only to quickly reach the Black Door. His companion was still too far to hear anything. As soon as he heard the question, he whispered the passphrase and the door clicked. 

“Maybe Cicero should take a nap?! Would that be enough for the mule to catch up?” Jester sang patting his bottom mockingly.

“Ya stop runnin’ and I make you sleep forever, cocky fuck!” Aappo was stubborn, Cicero had to admit that, but it was all he needed.

Jester let out a burst of malicious laughter and entered the Sanctuary, leaving the door open. And so the drunken Nord followed, unbeknown of his certain doom. A fatty fly entered the spider’s web. Cicero danced in the shadows, playing tricks through and through on his new toy. A little stab here, a delicate push there. Oh, Cicero loved to give life lessons to those, who mocked others just because. The fact that nearly none of them lived to put their new knowledge into practice was an unimportant detail. 

Too late had Aappo realised he fell into a trap. A sudden hit right to his clouded mind. He tried to sober up so bad, but even so, the corridors were dark and he didn’t know which way to go back. So sweet was the fear building up in the Nord’s ragged breath. Cicero hadn’t got so much fun for years. And he could see that the ghosts of assassins in these halls started to wake up. 

Aappo bawled his eyes trying to work the shapes all around him. Where was this guy, who was it? Cold sweat formed on his face and back. His legs started to shake and he gripped his axe hard. 

“Hey! You, clown! Let’s forget that!” He called out, trying to calm the shaky voice.

“Forget? Did you hear that, Mother? He wants Cicero to forget that!” Jester’s squeaks echoed in the halls. It was as if he was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. “Ho ho ho! Is the brute sorry for bullying poor poor Cicero?” 

“Yes, yes! S-sorry! T’was just a joke!” Aappo stuttered and started walking backwards, frantically looking around. His leg stepped on unstable ground. Was it a hanging bridge?

“A joke? A joke?! Ho ho ho!” Cicero’s wicked laughter roared nearby. “Cicero thinks that this story is full of holes… Just as the stupid Nord.”

Aappo whimpered silently under his breath and took two more steps back. A sudden squeak of metal soon convinced him it was a terrible idea. However, it didn’t bother him for too long. Sharp spikes pierced through both sides of his body, crushing the ribs and the skull, going through his brain like a knife through soft butter. As the spikes hid, his lifeless body stumbled and fell over the rope, hitting the ground meters below with a sickening thud of crushing bones. 

Cicero walked out of his hide and quietly climbed down the stairs. His amber eyes cold and cruel, his mouth stretched in a joyful smile. As he found what was left of the bully, he searched through his pockets, humming gleefully. A good brute is a dead brute, he thought. And the wall trap worked just fine, much to his content. His Sanctuary was safer now. Although, a distant roar proved him wrong.

“That troll… Cicero must be quick!” Keeper winced and grabbed the crashed body to drag it deeper into the Sanctuary.

If he was lucky enough, that beast would eat the Nord and leave the poor, poor Cicero alone for some time. And surely, luck was on his side that night. When he reached the icy cave, he heard Udefrykte’s confused grunts deep down on the lower parts of the cave. That was interesting. Was this beast up to something? Cicero silently pushed the body inside and sneaked a peek from afar. 

Shiny, there was something shiny and twisting down there. As he walked closer to the edge, he recognized that it looked like a surface of the water or a standing mirror. A soft light fell from it into the cave. The troll was dancing all around it, like a big ape. He was scared and curious, the jester could tell that, but he never dared to touch the strange surface before him. Cicero frowned, trying to take a better look. Was it… a portal? Passage of some sort? Feeling a sudden rush of courage, he lowered himself closer to the edge. A portal, indeed! Ah, bother and befuddle! Will someone invade poor Cicero’s Sanctuary? That may be a problem, a big problem! Oh, Mother won’t be happy!

Cicero gritted his teeth and stood up quickly. Maybe too quickly. A pile of snow fell down right on the trolls head. Udefrykte shook off the snow from his head and looked up. 

“Uhm… Supper is ready?” Cicero giggled nervously.

The troll roared furiously and rushed to the slope. Jester decided he would not wait to greet his nervous homemate. He ran through the halls as if the Void itself was about to swallow him whole. He didn’t stop until he reached his safe hiding spot, right by the Night Mother’s coffin. 

*** 

_Thump-thump._   
  


Oh… That was a dream, wasn’t it? It… it was so real. 

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

Her heart was racing so fast, her breath ragged like if she was running herself. The pulsating blood raged loudly in her ears. 

“Haa…” Angie took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, before opening her eyes. Her fingers absentmindedly touched the right cheek, a faint memory of pain fading from it like a mist. 

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

It was still dark when she finally lifted her eyelids. Paradoxically she was starting to get used to the irregular hours of waking. She was tired but excited at the same time. This was so intimate. At least, that’s how she wanted to describe it. Like getting under another person’s skin, sharing one body and looking through the second pair of eyes.

Was she aroused? Why? This was only a dream and yet… He was alive, he was somewhere there. He was living, breathing, he was real. This single thought excited her so much that she wanted to jump out of the bed and rush to the Dawnstar just like that. This instant. Now! She has always dreamt that someday they would meet in person, but of course, that was impossible. It was only a game, only another story she sunk in, letting her imagination flow and create scenes that would never happen. 

And yet, there she was. Lying on this hellishly hard bed, hoping that the cushion was without lice. So surreal. Her heart ached of fear and delight at the same time. It was so intense that she curled up feeling as if something deep, deep inside her cracked a little. An unreasonable sparkle of happiness that she had buried long years ago. 

“Just a dream, huh?” She mumbled to herself, a soft chuckle leaving her mouth moment later. 

But it was so similar to the dream she had before she appeared in this world. Was that a vision? A prophetic dream? Should she believe it, listen to her gut, which was twisting and swirling inside, urging her to stand up and go? It wasn’t a pleasant dream, not really, no. But he was there and she was here. Physically. That was the most beautiful thing she could imagine. The cherry on the top, she’d seen a portal. Well… HE had seen a portal. But she was a witness of some sort, a silent companion in that story. 

A high giggle erupted in her chest. 

“He… He’s alive. I can’t believe it.” Angie whispered, watching the wooden wall as if it was one of the seven wonders of the world. 

Maybe getting trapped in this world wasn’t as bad as she thought. Maybe, just maybe, it was a chance to wake up from this slumber she called life. A second breath after a long dive. 

“Stand up, Angie.” She commanded herself silently. “Stand up and go.”

And so she raised. New kind of energy flowing through her body. Pleasant, vibrating. Like a warm stream kissing her skin. She put on her new dress and a leather cuirass on a top of it. She took a slightly creased orange, some chocolate and a pack of oat flakes from her backpack and ordered a small bowl of hot water to make her breakfast and another one to wash herself later. As she was eating, she quickly wrote a passage in her diary, describing her dream. 

“... _If what I’ve seen was true, I surely shall find him before entering the Sanctuary on my own. He could take it as an intrusion otherwise and hurt or even kill me. That wouldn’t be wise. I must find a carriage or maybe ask a guard to show me the safest way…_ ”

When she was finally ready, she packed all her things, made the bed neatly and fixed the sheath of a dagger on her hip. There was only one thing before she could go - she had to apologise to Faendal for what has happened the day before.

“It’s the second time today someone apologized to me and it’s only two hours after dawn.” Bosmer chuckled resting his elbow on the prepared log. He was visibly in a good mood this day.

“Oh?” Angie raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“I’ve felt rather bad after I yelled at you two, but I see that it wasn’t all for nothing. It’s good to see some positive change in you. I didn’t want to hurt you, but sometimes one needs a slight shake to sort the head out.” He grinned and gave her a soft pat on the shoulder.

“I think we needed that. Thank you for everything, Faendal. I wish you and Camilla all the best.” She curtseyed with a little smile on her face and turned away. 

“Wait! Before you go.” Bosmer called her out. “Take this. It’s too small for me and I’m not using it anymore, but it may prove useful to you.”

Hours later, as she was walking down the road with a light wooden bow and few iron arrows on her left arm, Angie smiled to herself. There was hope in her heart and a childish curiosity shined in her grey eyes.


End file.
